


Grey Days and Sunny Skies

by PhoenixDiamond



Category: Trolls (2016)
Genre: Brould, Cranch, Humor, M/M, Mildly Explicit, Possible lemon (don't ask how lol), Rating May Change, Romance, Slight crackish, m/m - Freeform, very slight drama
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-08
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2019-03-15 15:06:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13615920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhoenixDiamond/pseuds/PhoenixDiamond
Summary: Branch has been tolerating Cloud Guy's obsessively flirting for weeks. Ignoring it has only made things worse. So, it's either sabotage the little cloud's attempts at wooing Branch or. . . possibly falling for the freakazoid.





	1. Cloudy With A Chance of Blue Balls

**Author's Note:**

> Holy shit, I'm dead. I can't believe I let my friends bait my head up into doing this. Oh well, I hope anyone who gives this a try finds it hilarious and sweet. Please excuse any mistakes and enjoy!

**Cloudy With A Chance of Blue Balls**

“Well, hellllo, tall, blue and moody. _Hmm Mmm Mmm_ , goin’ my way?” Cloud Guy vigilantly looks all around before leaning in and sweetly whisper, “Let’s say you and me skedaddle outta here and make today’s forecast a super _moist_ one.”

Branch sighs. This conversation isn’t new. Rather, Cloud Guy’s approach on the topic is in a sense, but it all revolves around the same subject. And how they reached this point still boggles the troll.

One day it’d all been about earning Branch’s smile, encouraging him to face his insecurities and hug Poppy. Now? Cloud Guy’s on a new mission that apparently involves luring Branch into riding his nimbostratus.

Cloud Guy’s words, not Branch’s.

It’d be one thing if everyone else knew of Cloud Guy’s sudden obsession, but he tends to only reveal that creepy part of him whenever he and Branch are totally isolated from the rest of civilization. Nobody ever hears or witnesses his strange flirtations, which suits Branch just fine. He’d prefer this whole ordeal be kept under lock and key where only he can access it.

Except that Poppy knows and she considers it the most adorable thing. Of course she would. She’s Poppy. Everything about Cloud Guy fascinates her.

Today, Cloud Guy finds Branch tending to his garden, uprooting weeds and other foreign debris. He decides to levitate high in the air when Branch decided to change positions and finish plucking weeds from a different end of his garden. “Ya know, McSlappy, winter’s right around the corner. And you know what I see?"

"No," Branch grumbles, "but I'm sure you're gonna tell me anyway."

Cloud licks his puffy lips. "I foresee endless nights, filled with eight inches of _thick, lumpy_  fun if ya catch my drift. Rwerr.”

Branch winces. That was just awful.

Unfortunately, it isn’t the last of them either. “If I name myself Teddy, would you hug me?”

No, scratch that. That one was just plain stupid.

Branch lifts his head to stare at Cloud Guy, and blinks a bit. The cloud looks back with heightened confidence, and when all the little cumulus does is maintain his drifting, Branch asks, “You know what’s in your future?”

“No,” Cloud Guy flutters closer.  “Tell me. Will it involve me and you swiping sticky humidity? Should I warn the villagers to expect some sizzlin’ temps later this evening?”

Branch’s mouth bunches to the side. “No, but you can expect overcast skies. You get me? In other words, cloudy with a chance of a blue balls!” With that said, he gathers his basket, shovel and pile and makes his way to his bunker.

“Will it be _your_ blue balls?”

“Oh boy.” Branch rolls his eyes. “Better luck next time, buddy. Maybe when you’re not as willing to soak my britches in perspiration, we may get somewhere.”

“Is that a promise?” Cloud Guy excitedly calls out as Branch activates his platform.

The troll lifts an eyebrow. “It’s more like a premediated speculation on what you’re incapable of doing.”

“Soooo, _totally,_ then? Because I can change!”

“Not likely!” Branch’s head tilts back until the view between him and Cloud Guy vanishes. Only when he touches base in his bunker is Branch able to breathe easier.

This has been going on too long. Two weeks, three days, and eleven hours to be exact; time in which Branch thought this elaborate prank would have run its course, but Cloud Guy hasn’t let up once. It can only mean the little cloud is dead serious and that’s so much worse.

Where any of this is stemming from remains a mystery. Branch can’t recollect ever sending any misleading vibes. Branch had assumed with him always running away and ducking for cover, that the cumulus cloud would catch the hint.  Instead, it’s only sent the wrong signals.

Cloud Guy stalks Branch’s trapdoor in the mornings, afternoons and evenings. How a cloud can sustain form so low in the Troposphere escapes Branch’s knowledge. The little twerp should have dissipated into thin air like a good pack of water vapors.

But no, he defies all properties of density, temperature and weather phenomena to survive in this kind of atmospheric pressure simply because he’s freaking Cloud Guy.

Branch crosses to his dinner table and sits down heavily in a chair, absently setting his bag of roots and weeds to the side. He has no clue what it will take for the cloud to catch a hint. Branch has performed every imaginable strategy outside of plain ole being ugly and cruel. He doesn’t have it in him to be that way again. Last time that’d happened, it had nearly cost the villagers their lives. That, and well, Cloud Guy’s flirting isn’t all that bad to deal with. Branch just doesn’t want Cloud Guy to get the wrong idea and believe he stands a chance of ever, ever getting together with him.

Seriously, how freaking screwed up would that be? Him and Cloud Guy? The creeper has as much of a chance of earning Branch’s love as Branch does convincing Poppy to go on a date with him. Neither prospect holds potential.

Firm knocks rap against his trapdoor before his platform gives a metallic whine and rattle. Branch sighs long and tiredly, waiting for Poppy to rudely invade his home for the third time today.

Branch looks at the wall. It’s midafternoon, so she’s bringing in lunch or coming to remind of him of a rehearsal he failed to appear for.

“Branch, Cloud Guy’s spelling your name in the sky again,” Poppy happily announces, prancing off the platform before it lands. “It’s the cutest. You should go see it and express your own declaration of love for him too.”

And just like that, his moodiness achieved a new level. “You’re either sick in the head or trying to push your hidden kinks off on me.” Branch deduces, bored. “Which I will forever hate you for if you keep encouraging that freakazoid to court me!”

“Don’t over exaggerate it, Branch. I think it’s adorable. What’s wrong with him having a widdle crush?”

“Besides the fact that nearly every troll will think I’m so desperate for attention that I have to get it from Mother Nature’s couch stuffing? There’s also the fact that he’s a cloud and I’m a troll!”

Poppy props her picnic basket full of baked goods and stoutberry juice on the table. She takes the seat across from him, and leans forward. “Those are very, _very_ good reasons, and sure, maybe he is a floating ball of dust and water particles. But come on, Branch. Are you really going to let a few technicalities,” she holds back a snicker, “ _cloud_ your chances at true happiness?”

“Strike one, Poppy,” Branch warns, jutting a finger. “You only got two left. Make them count.”

“OK, OK, OK, sheesh, chill out.”

“Strike two!”

“I wasn’t even trying that time!” Poppy has never been too good at lying and her efforts to hold back a giggle were too plain and clear.

Branch rolls his eyes and folds his arms. “I wish you’d be a better friend and help me out of this mess.”

Poppy reaches for a cherry muffin. “I don’t think there is. Other then being your normal rude self and flat out telling him you’re not interested.”

Branch takes a blueberry muffin and the small bowl of cream cheese at the bottom. “I tried that already. He claims I’m just playing hard to get.”

“What about insults?”

“Said I was being funny.”

“Yelling?”

“I’m not about to chance scaring him into pissing all over the forest again.”

Poppy helplessly shrugs. “Then you’re stuck with him. It’s not like he hasn’t been the perfect gentleman. Every time I see him around he’s as sweet and charming as anybody in love.”

“When _you’re_ around, yeah, but when you’re not. . .” Branch mocks a bodily shudder. “He’s anything, but chivalrous.” He thinks a spell while taking bites out of his muffin. He swallows, then adds, “I told him he might win me over if he ever learns how to look beyond a rump between the sheets.”

Poppy sputters, eyes going comically wide. A blush erupts in her cheeks. Branch studies her expression for all of two seconds. That’s it all it takes to translate the disturbance taking place in her brain. He surges to his feet, “Get out!”

“I wasn’t thinking it, I swear!”

“Liar. Your mind’s so deep in the gutter, you’re knee-deep in muck!”  

“Well, if you hadn’t planted those seeds in my head—” Poppy abruptly stops when she sees Branch’s eyes angle to look behind her. She turns in time to see a piece of paper swaying in the air.

Branch groans. His hair extends to catch it midflight and he brings over to read. Poppy nearly breaks her ankle trying to stand behind while he unfolds it.

“Dear McSlappy—nope!” Branch doesn’t read any further than that point before balling and tossing it on the floor.

“Branch, don’t be rude.” Poppy takes it off the floor and flattens it out. Clearing her throat, she holds the letter out and reads aloud, “’ _Dear McSlappy_ ,” she giggles, “ _A cold front’s blowing in as hard as I wanna blow you. No, just kidding, you said if I can change my ways, you’ll gimme a date, right? So, here on out, I vow to be the most polite, well groomed ball of cotton you have ever met. We can start off by you comin’ to my pad for a lovely lunch for two. You, me and global warming our intertwined bodies can create. Yours truly, Cloud Guy.’_ Awww, he’s so precious!” Poppy hugs the letter to her chest. “Branch, you have to go.”

“I don’t _have_ to do anything.”

“What’s the harm in going?”

“Uh, wrongly implying that I may be interested?!” snaps Branch.

“Well,” she shrugs again, “You could go and intentionally sabotage the whole thing; make it seem like you’re not worth the chase. It’ll be mean and right up of your alley of evil, heartless things you’d do, but at least it’ll cease all future endeavors in courting you.”

“That’s. . .” Branch blinks, intrigued. That isn’t a bad idea. He could’ve done without being labeled a villain, but Poppy isn’t far off on this. If he can paint the picture of him being the worse kind of troll, maybe Cloud Guy will get disgusted and stop pursuing him.

Yeah. Yeah, this might work. Branch rubs his hands together deviously, licking his lips. This is going to be great. The more he thought over ideas in ruining the cloud’s expectations, the more excited Branch became.

“Branch?”

“Yo.”

Poppy snickers. “In the slim cosmic chance the date does go well, what are the chances of you letting Cloud Guy _blow_ your mind away?”

“Get out. I hate you. I hate you with all of my hate!”

Poppy dodges the hurricane of cupcakes and muffins being hurled her way while frantically escaping to the platform, cackling and snorting the whole time.

 

 


	2. Chances of Seduction: Zero Percent

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY Everyone! Here's the next chapter. Please excuse any mistakes and enjoy!!!

**Chances of Seduction Zero Percent**

_Dear Cloud,_

_After much consideration, I have decided to humbly accept your invitation, but given how it’s realistically impossible for me to reach your domain, I vote for a change in scenery. Say, my Fear Bunker at seven o’clock?_

_See ya soon._

_~Branch._

_P.S. On second thought, make it five o’clock._

Looking at it from his end, Branch knows its better to avoid passing off this false date as being a real one. That includes setting the time to be during the usual timeframe for when couples have the most fun. He’d sent the letter via Pudgy his Firefly earlier this morning, so that’s given him plenty of time to prepare.

Decorations are in order; streamers lining the walls, wooden sconces filled with draping lavender vines to provide that sensual aroma therapy, unlit candles as the centerpiece on his dining room table and some stuffed spinach puffs baking in the oven. Everything’s going just as he planned.

All that’s left is to do is pick an outfit. His vest and patched britches are out of the question. He does own other clothes, but knows he may need them in case of an evacuation or some weird invasion of foreign creatures. That includes the Bergens. It only takes one brave soul to lead a rebellion after all.

So, a pair of clean brown linen slacks, and a yellow button up are chosen. Until he realizes that the yellow doesn’t do a thing to compliment his complexion and he opts to change it for a sage green leather vest.

He turns, and twist in front of his wall mirror, striking a seductive pose.

“Perfect.” Cloud Guy won’t know what hit him.

Because this will be a disaster of course and Branch has absolutely no intention of making this a fun, awesome, extravagant date.

Although, he’s gradually noticing the amount of detail and care he’s put into arranging this evening.

Good God, he even folded back the sheets in his bedroom as if they’d make it past the hallway!

“Gah!” Branch’s nearly sent into cardiac arrest when he hears swift knocks at this trapdoor. He checks the wall clock and frowns. It’s only three-thirty. What is that idiot cloud doing coming this early? The spinach puffs won’t be done for another hour.

Oh well. Branch figures it can’t hurt to get this freak show out of the way. At least once it’s over he stands the chance of returning to some semblance of a normal life. But just to add a touch of anticipation, he lets his visitor knock for another minute while preening his hair. He uses a wooden comb to style some banes above his right eye.

The knocking becomes harder, more determined. Which is peculiar for the cloud because usually he just seeps through the door.

Branch leaves his bedroom to trigger his platform and rises up. He’s smoothing the wrinkles from his vest when he pauses in the deposit pocket to discover who this unexpected guest is.

And it’s none other than, ’“Creek!” standing there, looking poise and dapper as usual.

“Oi there, Branch. Sorry to barge in unannounced, but—”

“What are you doing here!” Branch shrieks.

Creek blinks, then holds up a finger. “I was getting to that.” Then he takes a long, scrutinizing look over Branch’s appearance. “You look unusually attractive this evening. Any plans for scoring third base tonight?” he suggestively elbows.

“No!” That is far from the kind of image he wants to portray. Branch grabs Creek by the shoulders and spins him towards the exit. “But I am expecting a guest, so whatever you want will have to wait until later.”

Creek digs his heels into the ground until he’s anchored in place. “Actually, my problem really can’t wait.”

“It’s gonna have to today—”

“Dr. Plum Plimsy sent me here.”

Branch stops shoving at Creek’s back right away. “She did? Why?”

“Well,” Creek playfully drags, then clears his throat. “I have over a dozen checkups I’m past due on and she wanted to reevaluate me from top to bottom since I’d been living like a savage for the past few months. Anyway, that’s all behind us. She noticed I was sporting an odd, um,” Creek suspiciously all around them before beckoning Branch to come closer and whispers, “I have a bit of a funny rash on my bum and she’s out of the ointment used to get rid of it.”

Branch snorts back a snicker. “You got a rash on your butt? Pfft, serves you right for mediating on wet moss all the time. What did you do, have butt naked sessions on the—” Branch suddenly stops talking.

He blinks.

Creek flushes a deep mauve.

Dawning sets in at a slow burn. “Oh. . . oh. . . OH!” Branch visibly winces. “Oh my God, you, what, eww, where—how?”

“Is that really important?” snaps Creek. “It’s taking everything out of me not to scratch my bum raw right now, so can we bypass the interrogation and get with the mixing and concocting or whatever it is you do on your lonely days.”

“I’d really watch that tone of yours, buddy.” Branch crosses his arms. “I can suddenly develop amnesia and you’ll have to go around explaining to everyone why you’re doing a scratch and sniff on your romp.”

“Fine, I’m sorry. Can you help me or not?”

Branch gives it thought. Creek likely won’t leave until he gets what he wants. The last thing Branch wants is to have Creek lingering here and crossing paths with Cloud Guy. All kinds of questions will be asked, and Branch knows he’ll never hear the end of it.

So, without much of a choice, he nods and leads Creek below. The ointment won’t take long to make. By the time he finishes, the spinach puffs will be out and cooled enough to eat. The visit can be kept short and sweet. No need to get worked up over nothing.

It’s roughly a solid twenty minutes of tense silence between the two trolls while Branch collects the necessary tools and herbs. Creek merely keeps himself against the wall, loudly humming and murmuring self-motivating haikus. Then, there were a few words exchanged, mostly about the weather, and some gossip that leads to them sharing more information and becoming comfortable in each other’s presence.

It only takes thirty minutes to finish the ointment. Branch decides its still too early to kick Creek out and they keep to their conversation while Branch tickers with a new defense device. Something old and crafty to afford for better assistance with protection. He’s drawn some schematics and equations on a sizable portion of the dirt wall with sketched designs and formulas to match with what he has in mind.

“Maybe it needs more simplicity,” suggests Creek, spinning happily in one of Branch’s roller chairs and waves his half-eaten sandwich. “What’s the point of it having so many buttons when it only has a singular purpose?”

Branch’s mouth sets in an unamused line. He should have known that himself. He wipes the wall clean with his forearm and starts drafting a design for an easier version of his invention.

Creek swipes his thump across the corner of his mouth and licks the jam off, watching Branch create a two-dimensional doodle that looks like a cross between a helmet and a remote control. “So, the idea is for them to be able to aim their forehead to the hidden escape route and it automatically opens? You do realize over half the village has poor motor skills.”

“Damn,” curses Branch, erasing that particular feature and shoots Creek a curious glare. “Shouldn’t you be setting off home? Aren’t there any yoga classes or a dance recital you’re missing out on?” 

“Nope. I’d much rather watch you pretend you’re benefiting the world with your weirdo gadgets.”

Branch promptly flips him off, thinks better of it, then picks up a wrench and flings it across the workshop, managing to pop the bottom of the purple troll’s foot. Creek tosses it back in retaliation.

“I’ll clean your pod for a month if I don’t get this thing going by the end of the week!”

“Ha, a sucker’s bet. I’ll call you on that one.”

“You’re on, and by the way, apply your butt cream to the affected area twice a day. Double application if irritation continues.”

“Branch, you’re a right jerk.” Creek pops a chopped bit of stout berry in his mouth. “So, you ever plan to tell me who the lucky troll is?”

“No idea what you’re talking about.” Branch drops his wielders mask over his face.

Creek sighs at him. “I’m referring to the bloke or girl you dolled yourself up for.”

“I didn’t doll myself up—” Branch ducks his head between his shoulders as alarming panic struck his core. He pulls back his mask, wiping a greasy hand over his cheek. “What time is it?”

Creek shrugs. “I don’t know. A quarter to five, I think.”

“Get out!”

“What, how rude. Whatever, you were boring me anyway.” Creek snootily flicks his wrist and sashays towards the platform. “That bet’s still on by the way.”

“Yeah, yeah, sure, just get outta here!”

“Manners, Branch, manners. Aren’t you curious about what I have to offer you in the slim case you do win?”

“I’ve already written up half the contract!” Branch calls up to Creek. “You’re gonna be my slave for a month and have to do whatever I want, no matter how detrimental it’ll be to your hair!”

“Hmm, richly kinky. I should expect that from a recluse.”

Branch shakes his fist at the exiting troll as he disappears into the upper shaft.

Thanks to that distraction and Branch’s stupid habit of becoming too engrossed in his projects, grease stains were smudged on his pants and dripples of lubricant somehow landed on his vest’s breast pocket. There’s hardly enough to time fish through his closet for another decent outfit. And stupid Creek left behind grape stems on the floor—

Branch shrieks when the oven timer goes off. “My spinach puffs!” He dashes in the kitchen to grab a mitten and pulls the tray of slightly overdone puffs out. They crusted on the edges a tad browner then he wants, but they’re still edible. He places the sheet pan on top the stove and runs down the hall, checking the wall clock.

Five minutes.

He snatches the closet door open, plucking out different shirts and trousers, dismissing each with a blink. He finally decides on a pair of low hanging blue pants and a forest green mid-sleeve button up. He’s debating on either keeping the shirt open or buttoned when he hears his name called from the front.

“Ohhhh Branchie Wanchie, where are you my beloved dewdrop!”

“Erm, just a sec!” Branch calls back. “Stupid moron couldn’t knock at the door like any other person, could he?” He leaves the buttons undone, focuses on patting his hair in place, then puts some strut in his stride.

As he leaves his bedroom, he spots Cloud Guy floating by the wall of portraits and photos of his friends. Branch clears his throat, then leans one hand against the wall, and saucily smirks. “Sup, Cloud Guy. Glad you could make it.”

Cloud Guy goofily grins and snorts. “I wouldn’t wanna to be anywhere else.” His legs extend, a brand-new pair of black silk socks adorning each foot. Then his hands appear and in them, a beautiful peppermint bouquet. He comes forward, bowing his head and holds them out. ““For you my delicate _teal_ drop.”

Branch slowly takes the gift, mildly surprised. “Um, thanks, these are nice.” And awfully sweet. Branch sniffs them and nearly swoons. They smell so fresh.  

Cloud Guy holds out one hand, palm cupped towards Branch expectantly. Branch feels weird somewhere, buried underneath all the techno mojo, caution and alertness that thrums through him and makes him want to scream and jump and kick, but it doesn’t come to the surface. Branch ought to have done something like that, but relaxes his hackles to humor the cloud and takes his hand.

Branch flinches when his palm is brought to the cloud’s moist lips. A ring of moisture is left behind. “Your smile makes the sun envious, and the moon shamed, for neither can dare match the radiance of it’s shine.”

“Aww,” Branch stupidly echoes, touched. “That’s so—” strangely familiar and poetically out of Cloud Guy’s league. Branch lowers his eyes. “When’s the last time you stole my journal?”

Cloud Guy fishes it out of his chest. “Last night. Terrific way to learn about ya, too.”

A better opportunity couldn’t have presented itself. Branch snatches his journal. “So, we’re already reduced to snooping in each other’s privacy huh? I knew this wouldn’t work.”

“What do you mean, cherub?”

Branch glares down his nose. “You invaded my most sacred treasure, Cloud. If you can’t respect my need to keep some things to myself or-or learn to trust me, then there’s no need for us to take this thing further.” He whirls on his heel, folding his arms with a huff. With any luck, that should hit a homer.

Instead of a disgruntled ball of precipitation, Branch hears some chuckle behind him. “Oh, is that all?” Gangly arms wind around Branch’s waist, tugging back. He nearly falls through the cloud’s body until he solidifies. “Don’t you know, sweetness? It’s a give or take kind of deal. You tell me your secrets, I tell you mine. And you can bet that I would never, ever, ever, no matter what happens—even if I’m stomped into a puddle—reveal any of your most cherished secrets. They’re safe with me, just like I trust you to take care of the key you hold to my heart.”

Branch’s arms itched. He wants to spin around and slap the cloud stupid. Who told him to turn that whole scenario around with all of that sweet talk? “Right, I guess you would.” So much for an early break. “I cooked. Want to eat?”

“Aren’t you thoughtful?” Cloud Guy pinches Branch’s cheek. “Just what I’d expect from the most responsible troll there is.” He floats towards the kitchen. “Oh, spinach puffs, my favorite. How did you know?”

Branch smacks his face with the flowers. “Seriously? There is no way you’re going to convince me that you eat solids!”

Cloud Guy peeks around the corner. “Course not. But anything you cook is my favorite.” He ducks back into the kitchen, loudly fawning over the hard crust, smell and neat alignments.

Branch sighs. This is definitely not going the way he thought it would. It’s going great. That’s the big problem.  He takes the flowers to place in a vase of water. The colors suit his workout room. They can bring more warmth and serenity to his mind whenever he takes a whiff. When Branch returns, he sees Cloud Guy polishing off the last spinach puff off the sheet pan and licks his fingers of the creamy innards.

“Those were delicious!” Cloud Guy rubs a hand through his belly. “Thanks for dinner!”  

Branch dampens. He’d wanted one.

“Here you go. I saved a couple for you.”

And his mood swiftly changes. Branch sees Cloud Guy coming with a plate of the puffs.

“Thanks.” He made sure to save him some. Who taught this cloud to be the perfect gentleman. . . Branch seriously wishes he could kick his own butt.

Music flicks on out of nowhere. Branch glances around the room when the lanterns darken, and Branch just knows his stereo system was locked underground for private sessions.

“Dance with me.”

Branch blanches. “W-what?”

“Dance. Ya know, usually involves two people with a sense of rhythm, a dose of good music and a _sensual_ atmosphere.”

The drag in that one-word leaves Branch’s skin crawling. The song playing off the tape is a slow, jazz number. One of Branch’s favorites whenever he needs to relax from a long patrol around the village.

“I really like this song,” Cloud Guy announces. “It’s one of my top picks from your collection.”

“OK, you really need to stop nosing through all of my things.”

“Can you blame me? It’s the only way I can learn all about you. Ya know, this whole playing hard to get is getting tiresome. I’d almost think you didn’t like me back.” Almost as soon as the words were out of my mouth he is right in front of Branch and his hands appear to lightly rest on the troll’s waist. 

 "What are you doing?" Branch asks, mildly freaked, as he begins to rock from side to side. His hands come up and land of their own between the lumps on the cloud’s head or shoulders or whatever. The front of Branch’s chest plasters to his skin from the cloud’s warm moisture pressing against him. “You’re ruining my shirt, dude.”

“I’m trying to show you an enjoyable time.” Cloud Guy takes Branch’s hands and places them higher where the highest mound sits on his head, then returns his hands to the troll’s waist. There’s a good three inches of space between them now, and that’s good because Branch is pretty sure if he gets any wetter, there’s no salvaging this shirt today. “Are you having fun?”

“We’re barely fifteen minutes into this date—thing. It’s too early to pass an opinion. Your nosiness is a major turn off too. I don’t know how you managed to get around before you ever met me.”

Cloud Guy is staring into space, humming to the music. “Sorry, you say something?”

“Just that—”

“Hmm?” Cloud Guy’s face softly lays on Branch’s chest. He gazes up at the troll with the roundest, most adorable cuddle pup eyes.

Branch’s resolve crumbles like a cookie. “Nevermind.”

As many times as Branch has heard this song, it seems to go on forever. Over and over, he’s had to gently ease the cloud back to avoid saturating his front, but any and all attempts fail. Cloud Guy is determined to be have his way no matter what. Branch goes along with it until the song’s crescendo and then he’s suddenly sweep around and dipped low.

Branch catches onto Cloud Guy’s arms to prevent hitting the floor and it unfortunately brings their faces terribly close. So near, where Branch can make out every crimson speak in the cloud’s eyes. He sees a softness there; something more powerful than admiration. There’s a world of lust swirling in those beady eyes too; so potent, the color all over Branch’s face darkens significantly.

Now, being that Branch considers himself a very, very astute troll, something should have told him something’s amiss. Especially with their surroundings shrouded in a dimly light, his vision isn’t entirely impaired and his sense of aware suddenly spikes. He blinks rapidly and rights himself, horrified because there’s absolutely no way to explain himself out of this.

Creek is standing by the lowered platform, lamely chewing on a banana berry in petrified silence. His eyes are enormous.

Busted at the scene of the crime. Branch gulps, then chances a glance at his accomplice just to find Cloud Guy handling it with frozen hostility. Branch sighs, then leans in to whisper for Cloud Guy to give him a minute and asks to have the lights brought back up. Cloud Guy hesitates, but eventually moonwalks down the hallway, keeping a firm glare on Creek until he disappears.

Branch figures the only escape out of this awkward situation is with direct casualness. “How much did you see?”

Creek shivers. “About twenty years’ worth of psychological damage.”

Well, alright then. Branch drops his face in his palm in humorless defeat.

Taking a large, mortified bite out of his berry, Creek shakily winds his mouth in thoughtful quietness. Then wonders aloud, “So, uh, this is a rather interesting dynamic. How does this work? Do you rub against him for an electric charge? Does he shoot his lightning rod up your rectum? What, just, what?”

Branch’s head snaps up fast. “Really man? Who asks those kinds of questions?”

“You shut up!” Creek attacks, body rigid with anger. The banana berry—the suddenly very long little meal comes up to his mouth, but he looks at it, traumatized and tosses it away. “I realized half way home that I left my ointment down here and came to retrieve it. But then when I return, I find you tangled in the arms of that—that cloud? You fiend against nature. There has to be some illegal law of physics you’re breaking!”

“It isn’t like I asked for this to happen!”

“So, you admit it’s something after all. I knew you were lonely, but to do that with a poor defenseless cloud. God, I’m afraid to know just what you do to entertain yourself down here.”  

Branch’s face goes back into his hand as he wipes it across his eyes and massages his fingers against his temple. “Look, we don’t need this leaving—”

Creek gawks at him, outraged. “Are you bloody mad? I most certainly am going to speak on this to every troll in existence!”

“Don’t you dare, Creek!”

“Ha, indeed, I shall! You’re going to have to lop off both my legs if you want to stop me!”

Creek sprints to the platform. All those months spent surviving on his own has added some endurance to his once flaccid body. Branch narrowly manages to leap onto the platform’s ledge, grappling to pull himself on top before he’s cut in half by the seal. When they reach the surface, Branch shoves Creek against the wall, nose to nose.

“Listen, if you ever want to live your days with an itch-free ass, you’ll keep your trap shut about everything you saw down there. Clear?”

Creek narrows his eyes. “Threaten me all you want. I’m prepared to wait until Dr. Plum restocks her supply!”

Branch chuckles evilly. “Oh Creek, who do you think she gets her inventory from?

The color drains from his face. Now that Branch has successfully gained his attention, he now sees there is need of Creek after all.

“You know what, making that itch ointment did a number on my knuckles. There’s no telling when I’ll be able to work again. I think I’ll need compensation for my services.”

Creek pouts. “That’s really unethical of you. Aren’t doctors supposed to practice an unbias will to help all their patients?”

“That’d be the case if you hadn’t barged into my place unannounced. You’ve seen too much, know too much,” Branch sneers, pressing flat to Creek’s face. “So, here’s what’s gonna happen, pal. I have need of you for the next few minutes. All you have to do is follow my lead and that ointment’s all yours.”

“. . . Do I have much choice?”

“Uh-oh, the recipe for that ointment’s suddenly slipping away—”

“OK, OK, fine!” Creek pushes Branch away. “I’ll do whatever it is you want. Short of becoming your sex slave. That’ll actually cost you more than ointment, ole boy.”

Branch grimaces, disgusted. “I would rather dance butt naked over a bonfire.”

“Sure, you would. Now then, tell me what you’ve got cooking up that dastardly brain of yours.”

Branch’s grin splits his face in half. “Well, here’s the thing. . .” he leans in closer and whispers, “Help me sabotage this date with the cloud. Do that and the medicine’s all yours. Deal?”

“Oh, is that all. Pfft,” Creek waves off. “I love being a homewrecker. Deal.”

The two shake hands. Branch rubs his hands together, grinning at the space directly in front of him. Finally, a truly reasonable and unharmful means to getting rid of that cloud’s affections for him forever. He can shatter Cloud Guy’s heart just a little and they can go back to being chums.

Perfect plan. Simply perfect. No way this’ll be botched.  

 


End file.
